I can remember times when Xmas TV just seemed to show the same great films over and over again.Here's my short story:The Great Escape meets ET.‘Slaughter them,’ said the man wearing green wellies. ‘No, not that one,’ he said, pointing at Guinevere. ‘Needs another week.’Christmas isn’t the most favourable time for turkeys, so McQueen gobbled. But it was not his fate this year. He was pure white. A breeder.McQueen had a plan. Free-range in the cherry orchards offered opportunities, especially when there was a broken wire fence in one corner behind the bike sheds.‘Up for it then?’Guinevere shook her feathers and wiggled her tail. A near-death experience put things into perspective. ‘Up yours,’ she crowed.He strutted over. She cackled. They hatched the escape...A moonless night, she was escorted to the fence. A few pecks by McQueen, a scrabbling of his feet, and she was through.‘Good luck,’ he gobbled.Guinevere swore there was a tear in his eye. She aimed for open country - noticed a light, and headed towards it. A garden and a shed.Sanctuary…Gasps of surprise. Guinevere opened an eye. A boy was looking at her. He smiled.‘Hey, don’t be scared. I’m Elliott.’She gobbled.McQueen’s escape was legendary - but in this story, Elliott’s shed is home for him, Guinevere, Jenny and Jake…

Last year, I suffered an attack of Herpes Zoster (the chicken pox virus). Seems my immune system was low. Head and optic nerve in my left eye were attacked. Hospitalized for several days, thousands of drugs later, I was discharged.Fortunately my eye was by-passed and I was left with a painful residue that could have taken years to subside.Not so.Ou’s uncle, who is in his late eighties, is a spiritual guide (in Thai terms). He gave us roots of a herbal plant and immature coconut embryos to boil. I drank the (warm) liquid. After five treatments, I was cured. No reoccurrence since.Miracle.A few days ago he was very sick in hospital – and he had a dream. (Story recounted by Ou, when she visited him after his discharge.) Four ‘boss’ men came to see him from the spirit world. At the point of death, allegedly they write the good things you’ve done in your life in a ledger, and also the bad things. They decide whether you go to paradise or you don’t.He asked them whether they had ‘come’ for him. No, they said. You have done only good for your people. How long do you want to live? One hundred years? Longer?He said, “I want to die when it’s my time”, which I guess is the first time anyone has turned down immortality...

We’re surrounded by Coconut trees - tall palms with thin trunks extending skywards up to the foliage and goodies. Ripe nuts harvested by men, helped by monkeys on ropes. Allegedly, more people die from falling coconuts than from shark attacks – hmm.What you see in a supermarket or at a fairground is the hard, brown ‘nut’ inside a much larger green case – although this case is ‘soft’ pulp, a kilo landing on your bare bonce from 40 feet high would hurt. A. Lot. At harvest time I can hear the nuts plummet to the ground with a loud thump, enough to jolt me out of my chair.Today (13/12) was different.Men with chainsaws were harvesting two trees to make a new roadside ‘bench’ – a large wooden patio raised on blocks, with a tiled rain cover - where idle Thai men and women and children can squat and watch the world pass by. A national pastime – a gang of three men were sitting on their motorbikes watching the workers cut up the wood.Right outside my window, while I was writing – change that to, trying to write. After the chain saws came a petrol-driven mobile bench saw. Feed the trunk in at one end and out comes a plank at the other. Repeat several times. My hat off to the speed of construction - when Thai men work, they don’t shirk (if the money’s right).‘Why?’ I asked, (the cutting, not the shirking).Well it seems like the house owner of the original bench had banned ‘guests’, even though these ‘guests’ had renovated his bench in the first place. And very smart it looked when it was finished. Possibly, the proliferation of booze bottles and cans littering the ground had something to do with it.Or it could have been a complaint – a Swedish Farang has rented his guest house – the bench is only a few metres away from the guest house balcony. But that’s conjecture. Lasse (the Swede) seems amenable enough – and he drinks enough beer and Johnnie Walker Red Label whisky to challenge that theory. Maybe it was his Thai wife...Anyway, it was Prik’s sister’s land and her trees. So he’s going to relocate to her site just down the soi (road) from us. Now, a discussion is taking place. Work has stopped – fag break. I can see this is going to be an all day job... ah, a new circular sawing blade is being installed.Cutting continues. So does the noise. I’m the only one left who’s watching. It’s mesmerizing.Shame about the writing...Update today (15/12). Scenes of frantic activity. Morning, planks relocated. Afternoon, construction. Finished by 6:00 as the light starts to fade. Must be whisky night...

I hadn’t noticed the sticks – she pointed them out. All neatly planted in front of our house. Well not quite in front, there’s a small soi (road) between us and the coconut palm orchard.‘It’s Prik,’ she says.I stifle a laugh every time she mentions her cousin. He owns acres of land all around us.‘Maybe he sell.’‘Why?’ I ask. ‘You told me he’s rich.’‘Maybe he lose at cards. Sell land.’This worried me. Not the illegal gambling, but I enjoy sitting on my front balcony lording it like a big cheese from the British Raj, beer in hand, gazing out over the countryside at endless coconut palms while she swats away the flies with an electric tennis racquet.‘Now someone’s going to build a bloody great condo. Maybe even open a karaoke restaurant with loud Thai music all night. We must complain,’ I said.‘Cannot have music bar,’ she said. Green land. Not allowed.’Yeah, sure. Pay enough –anything can happen. On my soapbox. ‘Even ONE house can have some noisy Ex-pat, drugged up to his eyeballs, and belting out Black Sabbath at me. I’m not happy.’Sulk. A. Lot.Noises of machinery. A mechanical digger, attached to a pick-up, was doing what it’s called. Digging. Bloody great holes, all where the sticks were planted. Right opposite. Prik was directing.‘Now’s your chance,’ I said.She smiled. ‘Prik ... he funny with me. Make joke. Build Condo ... certain. 100%.’Grimace – but to our rescue was another cousin. Cousins seem to spring out of nowhere. ‘Go ask him,’ she said, tripping out of our front gate. Short conversation in loud Thai.Twenty minutes later with all the holes dug –with me presuming that’s where the concrete pillars would be positioned – she came back with “News”.‘Prik not sell land.’I waited. Hairs standing on end. Beads of sweat. Hold breath. Heart thumping – you get the picture.‘Not know English,’ she said. ‘But tree for King’s palace.’‘Ah.’ Breathe out. Look up in Thesaurus dictionary. Acacia decurrens the “Golden Teak” tree.Prik – Buddha bless him, is going to build trees.TREES...I love Thailand.

I have now completed two new crime stories. Hawaii High Five is the first and Hawaii High Lo is the sequel. Both will be published on Kindle before Xmas.Both are short novellas - about two hours of entertaining reading ...

Here is the blurb:Hawaii High FiveHawaii - exotic women, sand and surf.Bad things don’t happen in Hawaii, but Shayne Reeves is in the wrong place at the wrong time.When he’s offered four thousand bucks to house sit a mansion, with a stunning girl thrown in as a sweetener, he’s hooked.Sounds like easy money…------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------For a FREE PDF copy of Hawaii High Five drop your e-mail in the comments box below and I will send you one.It's my copyright, so it's not for distribution without my permission.Stephen

Stop flapping those dirty-white wings at me, it’s unhealthy - I catch cold easily. And then flu, and before you know it, it’s pneumonia - with complications, Gabby. That’s how I landed up here on this soddin’ cloud.I’m looking at the pics, ok? Bloody clever, that. I can choose (within reason) and a low-soul cost.Let me get it right. Two minutes before conception I get blasted up a fallopian tube, hitch a ride on a bucking bronco, and get egg all over my face when we break into the fortress.Sounds like fun.I tried the macho bit last time – and it didn’t work out ... took a left-hander, and gunned into a faggot. That’s how I caught a cold – sniffing bloody pansies. This time, I’m taking out death insurance on a female. A return ticket, if she takes up writing memoirs or horse-riding, ok?All right, you’ve got to tune your harp. Let’s see. Yeah, this outstanding one with the big knockdown offer, only two souls. But I don’t like the name, Katie Price. Can’t you think of anything more exotic? What’s that?Jordan.Yeah, that floats my boat.

Author

Bio: British age 74 (young) retired and living in Thailand. Profession, Charity Auditor working in some 40 countries over the last ten years before retiring. Familiar with writing reports to professional standard. Sense of humour, reserved, realist and down to earth. Enjoy writing with a passion for the unusual.Genre: Fiction crime Email: stephenterry747@hotmail.comPhone: 0066823250835 Thailand